


Christmas Past

by Juli



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had really thought, now that they were lovers, that Dean would see him more as an equal and not just the pesky little brother that had to be protected. It stung to be wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Past

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted December 29, 2007

Sam gulped. Quince Murphy wasn’t holding his paranormal weapon, but then he didn’t currently need it. The handgun he had pointed at Sam was lethal enough. 

Murphy saw Sam’s nervousness and chuckled. “Not so high and mighty now, are you? I warned you not to mess with me.”

There was nowhere for Sam to go, Murphy had literally backed him into a corner. “You don’t want to do this.”

The other man grinned. “Says you.”

Quince Murphy had captured the spirit of a deceased witch in a crystal globe and was using the paranormal entity’s powers to wreck vengeance on those people he thought had wronged him. At least, it had started out that way. By the time Sam and his brother had tracked him down from the coordinates their father had sent them, he seemed to be unleashing the spirit almost seemingly at random. Looking in Murphy’s eyes, Sam began to understand why. There was no way that the man was sane.

Sam saw Murphy’s finger tighten on the trigger and prepared to launch himself in a desperate bid to gain control of the weapon. He was just a little too late. Right as the gun went off, a dark form came barreling out of the shadows, hitting Murphy solidly and causing the man’s shot to go wild.

“Dean!” Sam shouted. He’d heard a grunt of pain as his brother tackled the bad guy, but didn’t know if it was from the impact or if Murphy had shot him.

Both Dean and Murphy landed hard, but Murphy bounced right up. Dean was a little slower to regain his feet, but at least didn’t seem to be bleeding. Sam tried to wade into the fight, but Dean moved, blocking him. 

“Sam, get the globe,” Dean barked. “Smash it.”

The brothers had separated to search Murphy’s house for the globe. Sam had found it first, but before he could grab it, Quince Murphy had found him. At least Sam knew right where it was. While Dean kicked the gun out of Murphy’s hand, Sam ran over to the bookcase where the globe was on display. 

“NO!” Murphy yelled as Sam lifted the delicate object over his head. 

Murphy hadn’t managed to regain the gun yet, but had grabbed a paperweight off the desk. After clubbing Dean with it, he lunged at Sam, but Sam was too quick for him. Seeing his brother go down a second time gave Sam cause to throw the crystal globe as hard as he could against the wall. It smashed into shards, the tiny pieces flying all across the room.

The destruction of the globe set the entity that had been trapped inside it free. Murphy turned to run, but the white light that had emerged from the destroyed globe caught him easily. Sam flinched as the screaming started, but it was to be expected. Sophia Laster had reportedly been a compassionate woman in life, but being enslaved in the afterlife would make even the best of women cranky.

Knowing that he and his brother were in no danger from the spirit, Sam turned his back on Quince Murphy’s final moments and hurried to Dean’s side. Dean was struggling to sit up. One hand was pressed to his temple, while another clutched at his side. Sam’s brother was battered, but thankfully, alive.

“Are you insane?” Sam berated the older man as he helped Dean to sit fully upright. “That guy could have killed you.”

“Well, it looked like he was gonna kill you, even a schmuck like Murphy couldn’t miss from that range.” Dean winced and tried to bat away Sam’s fingers as Sam probed at the cut on the side of his face. “And, by the way, you’re welcome.”

“I am not going to thank you for almost getting yourself killed,” Sam snarled. His voice shook with barely contained anger. “The last time I looked, I was a fully grown adult and capable of taking care of myself. You have to stop risking your life that way.”

Dean looked steadily back at him, either too tired or simply not inclined at the moment to get angry. “It’s my job.”

Sam didn’t have a chance to dispute that comment. A soft white light started gathering behind him. Dean’s eyes opened wide, warning Sam that something was approaching. He turned awkwardly, wanting to keep one arm around Dean’s waist to help support him.

Now that she was free of the globe, Sophia’s spirit took human shape. At first her expression was kind, but as she seemed to study them, worry lines formed.

“You’re free,” Sam told her. “You can move on now.”

“Thank you,” her voice was a whisper. “A gift for a gift.”

Sophia’s spirit reached forward and, before Sam could flinch back, touched him. Her fingers lightly brushed across his eyes, which had closed in reflex as they neared. For a moment, Sam felt a flash of warmth, quickly followed by coolness and then the sensation was gone. So was Sophia, for that matter.

“Huh,” Dean muttered as he shifted positions. “I wonder what that was all about.”

“Don’t know,” Sam replied tersely. “Don’t really care, either. Let’s get you back to the motel and see what kind of damage you’ve managed to inflict on yourself this time.”

“I hate to tell you this, Sammy,” Dean’s comment was cut off when Sam helped him to his feet. After a few deep breaths to control his pain, Dean glared at his younger brother. “But your bedside manner sucks.”

Sam ignored Dean’s complaints, more interested in the blood he’d just discovered. Dean had been shot after all, but the dark blue color of his shirt had hidden that fact at first. As he reached to pull the shirt aside to see how bad it was, Dean’s hand on his wrist stopped him.

“Just grazed me,” Dean assured him. “Don’t get your knickers all knotted. You know what knickers are, right? Girls’ underwear and that should give you a clue about how you’re acting.”

“Yeah, right,” Sam snorted. He propped Dean up against a nearby wall. “Don’t move.”

Dean didn’t look at all cooperative, but didn’t protest. Sam knew his brother well enough to know that lack was indicative that Dean was feeling his wounds more than he wanted to let on. Moving quickly, Sam sidestepped the bloody mess that was all that was left of Quince Murphy and got to work. He quickly found the laundry room and grabbed some clean towels.

“Here, use these,” Sam instructed as he handed the towels to Dean. 

Both Winchesters were well versed in wound care and Dean pressed the towels to his side. He grimaced in pain, but otherwise remained silent. It was hard to tell for certain,  
with Quince Murphy’s blood spread all around, but Sam didn’t think that Dean had left any DNA evidence. For once, they’d worn gloves, so there would be no fingerprints to connect them to the scene either. The authorities officially considered Dean dead and the last thing that the Winchesters needed was for that status to be questioned.

“All right, let’s get out of here.” Sam reached out to wrap an arm around Dean’s waist and help him, but Dean shrugged him off. Sam set his jaw and put an arm under Dean’s elbow. Dean snorted in frustration, but otherwise remained silent until they got out to the car.

“Where’s my corsage?” Dean quipped as Sam helped him into the Impala’s passenger side. “Walkin’ me out to the car, holding the door open and all that crap. Isn’t there supposed to be flowers too?”

Sam glared at him, warning Dean off by expression alone. Dean snorted, amused. Sam was glad that one of them was.

He maintained his frosty silence all the way to the hotel, afraid of what he would say once he got started. Sam had really thought, now that they were lovers, that Dean would see him more as an equal and not just the pesky little brother that had to be protected. It stung to be wrong.

“You should take a quick shower and get the blood off before I patch you up,” Sam commented as they entered the motel room.

Dean smirked. “Wanna share?”

“No, thanks,” Sam retorted. “I’m going to be getting out the iodine and seeing if we have any suture thread left, in case you need stitches.”

“Spoil sport,” Dean muttered, but he didn’t press matters. 

Dean hobbled into the bathroom, not bothering to take any fresh clothes with him. It didn’t really matter. As Sam assessed their medical supplies and got out the things he thought he needed, he also dug out a fresh pair of sweats and a t-shirt he knew would be loose on Dean. While Dean preferred to sleep in the nude, there was no way that Sam was going to let him take a chance on catching a chill while he was injured.

It didn’t take long for Dean to emerge from the bathroom, still damp and with a towel slung around his hips. Sam normally would have found the sight very distracting, but the angry, red wound marring Dean’s side drew his immediate attention.

“Sit down,” Sam ordered. 

“It’s really just a scratch, Sammy,” Dean claimed. He sounded more tired than he did defensive, but he obeyed and took a seat on the edge of the bed as Sam directed.

Much to Sam’s surprise, Dean wasn’t exaggerating. The bullet had just creased his side. Sam’s first flush of relief was tempered by the knowledge that tragedy could have occurred if the gun had been aimed just a few inches to the left. He worked quickly and without speaking, cleaning the wound thoroughly and ignoring Dean’s hisses of pain.

Once his brother was all patched up, Sam sat back with satisfaction. “I think that’ll do.” He then turned his attention to the bruise forming on Dean’s temple. “Are you dizzy? Headache?”

“Dude, the guy smacked me upside the head with paperweight, of course it hurts,” Dean snapped at him. 

Sam held up his hand. “How many fingers?” Dean grimaced and Sam’s mouth tightened. “How many?”

“Two,” Dean answered. He held up his own hand, which had one digit raised proudly. “And how many do I have up?”

“I don’t think you have a concussion,” Sam ignored the rude gesture. “If you did, you’d be puking by now. I’ll still wake you up every couple of hours, though, just to make sure.”

“Or you could just keep me up,” Dean waggled his eyebrows as he loosened his towel.

Sam couldn’t help but notice how the movement made his brother wince. It figured that Dean would ignore physical discomfort in the interests of getting frisky. For once, Sam wasn’t in the mood to indulge him.

“You go ahead and get some rest,” Sam instructed. “I’m going to take my turn in the shower.”

Dean reached out to his brother with one hand. “Sam. . . .” The movement caused his side to pull and Dean winced, using the other hand to brace his wound.

Even as angry as he was, Sam couldn’t resist the imploring tone. “Get some sleep,” he pressed a chaste kiss on Dean’s lips, stepping back before his brother could deepen it. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

The hot shower helped Sam’s temper cool a little. When he was done, he came back to the main room. Dean was curled up under the covers, fast asleep. He slept on his side, protecting the gunshot wound and the worry crease in his forehead indicated that Dean’s sleep wasn’t entirely pain-free.

As he slid under the covers to join his brother, Sam started to berate himself for the way he’d treated Dean. Yes, he had reason to be mad at him, but Dean had been wounded in Sam’s defense.

“The least I could have done was say thank you,” Sam whispered as he gathered Dean into his arms. Dean snuffled, but didn’t wake as he settled deeper into Sam’s embrace. Sam pressed a quick kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “Thank you.”

Conscience heavy, Sam joined his brother in sleep.

*  
*  
*

The cold woke Sam. He’d gone to sleep pressed up against Dean’s warm body, but he woke feeling distinctly chilled and uncomfortable. There was a breeze too, which was odd since it was the wrong time of year to have the air conditioning on. Confused, Sam opened his eyes.

He immediately became a lot more confused.

Instead of a motel room, Sam found himself outside. Becoming more baffled by the moment, he sat up. He’d been stretched out on a park bench, no wonder he’d been uncomfortable. He made an inarticulate sound in surprise and, as he did, his breath became visible in the cool air.

Sam sat up slowly. He’d fallen asleep next to Dean in their typical dumpy motel room and awakened outdoors, his brother was nowhere to be found and snow was on the ground. There was only one explanation.

“This is a dream,” Sam muttered to himself. To prove it, he stuck his hand into the nearest snow. It was cold and wet. Sam looked at his hand in disbelief. “What the hell?”

Lifting dazed eyes, Sam took a better look around. He appeared to be in a public park and, wherever it was, it was likely to be a far piece from Alabama, where he’d been when he fell asleep. It was a fair bet that Alabama didn’t have snow on the ground. From the garland festooning the light posts, Sam surmised it was late December. It had been April when he’d gone to bed.

Remembering Sophia Laster’s last words to him, it was pretty obvious that her spirit was responsible. “Some gift this is,” Sam muttered to himself.

He wasn’t going to figure anything out sitting on a park bench, not to mention that it was too cold. Sam stood, grateful that he at least was wearing a coat.

With no particular destination in mind, Sam wandered. As he did, he couldn’t help but notice how strangely some of the people were dressed. A woman passed him, lace poking out from the neck of her jacket from the blouse underneath. Right behind her was a group of young men and one of them was actually wearing a silver glove. Sam did a double take, but not because of the clothing. What had caught his eye was the cell phone one of the men was carrying. It was the size of a brick and looked at least as heavy.

Sam began to getting a sinking feeling. At the next corner, he saw a newspaper machine and he fished a couple of quarters out of pocket. The fact that he only needed one of them was clue enough, but even so, he was shocked when he read the date on the newspaper.

December 23, 1983.

“Oh man,” Sam said under his breath. 

His breath made a visible puff in the air and that reminded Sam that he wasn’t in Alabama anymore. His eyes left the date printed on the newspaper and slid over to where the location was listed.

Lawrence, Kansas.

It was like a one, two punch in the gut. Sam was in the city of his birth, less than two months from the most momentous event in his family’s history. Unfortunately for Sam, it was almost two months too late. His mother was already dead.

The twin shocks were a lot for Sam to handle. Anyone he could have called for help was decades away and he’d never felt so alone in his life. He didn’t know anyone in Lawrence. He wandered again, his feet taking him around town. Sam was a Winchester and he’d been trained since childhood to remember landmarks. After about an hour of walking, which at least helped him stay warm, Sam found himself in a more suburban part of town, in front of the burned out husk of a house. Unconsciously, he’d gone home.

The last time he’d been at the house his mother had died in, it’d been rebuilt and Dean had been with him. Now that he could see the scars from the fire, Sam got a better feeling for why Dean had been so reluctant to return. Looking at the home, it wasn’t hard to imagine that a woman had died there. In fact, looking at the remains of the building, it was harder to imagine that three people had survived the fire.

“Such a shame.”

Sam startled, not realizing that he was no longer alone. He turned towards the voice that had spoken. It was an older woman, walking a small dog. “Excuse me?” 

“The fire, it was a shame,” she repeated, her eyes sad. “The Winchesters were such a nice family.”

“You knew them?” Sam asked, curious in spite of his situation. It was harder to tell who was more closed-mouthed about their past; Dean or their dad. Despite the mystery of how he’d gotten there, Sam couldn’t pass up the opportunity to learn more about his family.

“Oh, yes,” the woman replied. “Mary was always laughing and, oh, how she loved her boys. John doted on all of them.” She shook her head sadly. “Those poor little babies, to be motherless so young.”

“Do you know where they are now?” Sam asked. He couldn’t think of any other reason he was in Lawrence except his family.

The woman thought about it for a minute. “I heard tell that they’re staying with a fella that John works with at the garage.” She sighed again. “He loved Mary so much; I don’t know what John Winchester is going to do now.”

Sam did, but he figured his new friend would never believe that the nice Mr. Winchester who lived next door would eventually become a ghost hunter. Still, his conversation with her reminded Sam that he did know someone in Lawrence, after all.

“Thanks a lot for the information,” Sam told her as he started to move away. “I appreciate it.”

He waved and walked off, not giving her a chance to respond. Missouri Mosley lived on the other side of town. Lawrence wasn’t a huge metropolis by any means, but it was still a hike to get there. Sam ended up thumbing a ride. He was only in the car about 15 minutes or so, but it was too long. A young man about Sam’s age was the one who gave him a ride and he was friendly enough, but the music he was playing at top volume was threatened to make Sam’s ears bleed. It was techno-crap; if that was what had been playing during Dean’s formative years, Sam could understand why Dean preferred the heavy metal stuff.

“Here you go, man,” the obliging stranger told him as he pulled to a stop sign. “This is your street.”

“Thanks,” Sam replied as he got out. 

“Anytime, ‘tis the season,” was the cheerful response. “Merry Christmas!”

Sam watched the car pull away. “Yeah. Merry Christmas.”

Once he was at the house, Sam had second thoughts. He knew that Missouri lived in Lawrence at the time of his mother’s death, but he didn’t know if she lived at the same address. Having no other option, Sam approached the front door. To his relief there was a small placard that stated that psychic readings were available inside. He lifted his hand to knock, but before he could, the front door was yanked open.

A young black woman stood in front of him. She was slender and short and her expression as she looked up at Sam was one of confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Sam stammered, not recognizing her in the slightest. “I think I’m at the wrong house.”

He turned to leave, but a sweet, imperious voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Sam Winchester, what are you doing on my front porch, all grown up?” Without the distraction of her youthful visage, Sam clearly recognized Missouri’s voice. “When I know for a fact that I put your baby self down for a nap not even an hour ago.”

Sam came back around. Now that he’d heard her, he could see the Missouri he knew in the young woman’s face. Intellectually, Sam had realized that she would be younger in this time period, but he’d been unprepared for the reality of it. Missouri was no older than he was.

Her face softened as she looked at him. No doubt Sam’s expression was as lost as he felt. “Why don’t you come inside and tell me all about it?”

Within a few minutes, Sam found himself in Missouri’s living room, a welcome mug of warm coffee in his hands. Like Missouri herself, Sam could see echoes of the living room he’d been in before when he’d first met her. He tried not to let it distract him as he told his story.

“And that’s when I remembered that you would be here,” Sam wound down after talking for several minutes. “I knew you’d helped my father out after my mom died, introducing him to the supernatural world.”

“Honey, your daddy already had the rudest introduction to the supernatural world that I ever heard of,” Missouri corrected him. Her face was distracted as she pondered on what she heard. “I’m just helping him make sense of it all; letting him know that he isn’t insane and that he truly did see what he says he did.”

“Do you know why I’m here?” Sam asked. “Or how I got here?”

Missouri’s gaze sharpened as she focused on him. “Do I look like a witch? I read people a little, sense entities, but I have my limits.”

Sam gaped at her. He’d been so sure that Missouri could give him all the answers. The Missouri he knew was something of an expert on the paranormal. As he looked at her youthful face, however, Sam had to remind himself that this Missouri lacked her future self’s experience.

“Look, Sam, I don’t know why or how Sophia Laster sent you here, but from what you’ve told me, I’m pretty sure it was for benign reasons. If I had to guess, I’d say you were sent here to learn something or to see something.” Missouri reassured him. 

“Her timing sucks,” Sam muttered. “Six weeks earlier and I could have saved my mom; saved my whole family from a lifetime of pain.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Saved Jess.”

“Bite your tongue!” Missouri chastised him. “Don’t you ever watch Star Trek?”

Sam looked at her as though she were speaking a second language. Sure, he’d expect Dean to reference an old sci-fi show, but not Missouri.

“You can’t change the past, Sam,” Missouri explained. “If you had saved your mamma, who knows what else might have happened? It might have ended up even worse or maybe your mother would have died anyway, from cancer or some such.” Sam apparently didn’t look convinced, because she continued. “From what you told me, all three of you hunt. What if one of the people you’ve saved ends up being important to the world? A healer or peacemaker? That person wouldn’t have survived if you and your family hadn’t become hunters. No, what happened to your mother was horrible, but it was meant to happen.”

Sam put his coffee mug down. “It’s a moot point anyway, isn’t it? It’s too late to save anyone.”

Missouri sighed and reached over to pat his knee. “I tell you what, I can’t fathom why you’re here of all times and places that Sophia Laster could have sent you to and I can’t help you save your mother. She’s already dead. But would you like to see your baby self? He’s upstairs asleep.”

It wasn’t what Sam truly wanted, but it was something. He nodded and obediently got up to follow Missouri as she took the stairs to the second level of her home. She stopped in front of a closed door. It was late afternoon and there was sunlight coming through the windows in the room across the hall, so Missouri didn’t need to turn on a light as she quietly opened the door to let Sam peek in.

Not many photos survived their house fire, so Sam wasn’t all that familiar with how he’d looked as a baby. He’d never really thought all that much about babies, actually, so seeing the infant curled up in a portable crib didn’t rock Sam’s world.

Seeing his four year-old brother, however, did.

It hadn’t occurred to Sam that Dean might be there too. Missouri had explained that she was babysitting for John Winchester until he could get back on his feet, but Sam had assumed that Dean would be in preschool or something. He wasn’t. Dean was curled up around baby Sam and his eyes were wide open as the adult Sam stood, dumbfounded, in the doorway. As Sam just stared, Dean lifted his head and glared at him. It was a familiar expression, but unnerving on a young child’s face. Sam had no trouble recognizing it; it was the same protective glare Dean used whenever something threatened Sam.

Missouri came up behind Sam and put a supportive hand in the small of his back. “It doesn’t matter what room or what bed we put him in, Dean always ends up with Sam.”

The adult Sam was forgotten as Missouri gently pushed passed him to get to the children. “Dean, honey, now what have your daddy and I told you?” She didn’t wait for the child to answer. “Sammy has his bed and you have yours.”

A little chin stuck out belligerently as Dean defied Missouri. His expressive green eyes went from her to Sam and back again.

“He’s a friend of mine,” Missouri said, as though a question had been asked. “His name is Sam too. What do you think? Will your baby brother ever grow so tall?”

Dean looked at Sam and slowly shook his head in a negative response.

“Well, you’d be surprised,” Missouri said with a smile. “I see Sammy’s waking up; I bet he’d like a clean diaper.”

Sam just stood and watched as Missouri picked up his infant self, who was indeed awake. Baby Sam didn’t pick up on the tension in the air, just cooed at Missouri as she lifted him out of the crib. Dean, on the other hand, kept a baleful eye on Sam as he slid out of the crib and trotted over to the changing table where Missouri had taken the baby. As she changed Sam’s diaper, Dean handed her the implements she needed before Missouri could even ask. 

Dean had helped change his diapers and without protesting about it too. Sam started to grin, thinking of the blackmail material that fact provided, but his grin quickly faded as he realized that his Dean was 22 years away. 

“There now, we’re okay,” Missouri stated in a gentle voice. She was doing up baby Sam’s sleeper, but the look she gave adult Sam was obviously meant to be reassuring. “We’re all just fine. Let’s go downstairs and see what fun we can think up.”

Missouri led the way out of the bedroom and Sam didn’t even have a chance to move after her before Dean was scrambling to get between them. His four year-old body barely came as high as Sam’s hip, but the little boy’s motions were clearly protective. In a way, the action grounded Sam. Some things, it seemed, never changed and Dean putting himself between his brother and the unknown was one of them.

Once they got back to the first floor, Missouri offered the baby to Sam. “Do you want to hold him?”

Sam didn’t have a chance to answer. Dean promptly moved in front of him, almost tripping Missouri.

“Dean, honey, Sam is a friend of mine,” Missouri tried to reassure the child. “Just like your daddy is my friend. He’s not going to hurt baby Sammy none.” She gave Sam a wry glance. “In fact, I think he wants to protect Sammy as much as you do.”

Dean just shook his head, blond hair flopping into his eyes from his determined movement. Sam was a little surprised at how long Dean’s hair was. Except for a brief period in Dean’s adolescence, he’d always kept his hair very short.

“That’s okay,” Sam shrugged. The last thing he wanted to do was start an argument. “I don’t need to hold the baby.”

Missouri clearly sensed his intention, because she didn’t press the issue. “All right.”

Sam watched while Missouri spread out a thick quilt on the floor. She set baby Sam down in the middle of it and then sat back on the couch. Sam watched while his baby self rolled to the side, giggling as though it were great fun. Each time that he neared the edge of the quilt, Dean gently rolled him back. It happened over and over again, but Dean never showed any impatience. The adult Sam looked up at Missouri, but she just shrugged.

“Dean’s very good with his brother,” she explained. “Dean, would you like to watch some TV? Scooby Doo should be on; you like that one.”

Dean looked up at Sam and shook his head. Obviously, the little boy wanted to concentrate on keeping an eye on the stranger. Sam smiled sadly. He’d once spent a Christmas with Jessica’s family and the visit had included an afternoon with her young cousins. If those rowdy boys had been any indication, then Dean was far too subdued for a child of his age.

“He hasn’t said anything,” Sam spoke without thinking. It had just occurred to him that Dean had yet to utter a sound.

“Dean doesn’t talk much,” Missouri spoke so quietly that, even seated on the couch next to her, Sam could barely hear her. Dean clearly didn’t, which no doubt was Missouri’s intent. “He hasn’t, not since his mother passed. Sometimes I’ll hear him sing to you,” she bit her lip. “I mean, to the baby you, but not to me and not to John. It worries your daddy something awful.” 

There was really nothing Sam could say to that, so he sat back and watched the children. Baby Sam seemed content with the rolling game he was playing with his brother, but eventually he began to fuss. When he did, Missouri looked at the clock.

“Time to get supper on.” She turned to Sam. “You’re going to stay, aren’t you?”

Sam didn’t know what to say. “Is that all right? I mean, Da-. . . their dad won’t mind?”

Missouri snorted. “This is my house and I say who’s welcome for dinner and I say you can stay” She stood and picked up the baby. “Besides, John works late; we’ll be done before he gets here to pick up the boys.”

With Dean trailing behind her, Missouri headed towards the back of the house, where Sam assumed the kitchen was. Sam followed. Missouri had obviously had the Winchester boys for dinner frequently, because they clearly had a routine. Baby Sam was placed in a high chair and given a hard biscuit to chew on. With his brother confined and therefore easier to keep an eye on, Dean was content to sit at the table next to him and color while Missouri moved around the room readying the meal.

Watching child Dean’s head bent over his paper, tongue stuck out in concentration as he worked with his crayon, Sam got a sense of déjà vu. He remembered seeing Lucas Barr doing the same thing and how his gruff brother had melted at the sight. At the time, Sam had thought it strange that Dean had bonded with the boy so well, but now, seeing his brother’s child self internalizing the same kind of pain, Sam understood all too well. Lucas has watched his father drown; Dean had been there when his mother burned. Although their parents had died by different methods, the scope of the tragedy was the same.

“Oh, Dean,” Sam murmured under his breath. Baby Sam had dropped his biscuit and squawked. Dean was up and moving before Missouri could even turn, picking it up and giving it back to his brother. 

Dinner was not an elaborate affair. Missouri heated up some spaghetti for the adults. Baby Sam got food from a jar and Dean got macaroni and cheese. Sam tucked into his food gratefully. He hadn’t eaten all day and it wasn’t until the aroma of the spaghetti filled the kitchen that he realized how hungry he was. Missouri alternated spooning food into baby Sam and taking a bite herself, all without missing a beat. 

Dean was the only one not eating. He just poked his macaroni around with his fork, but didn’t bring any up to his mouth. 

“Dean, sweetie, you have to eat,” Missouri cajoled. She gave Sam a worried glance. “He hasn’t been eating much either.”

Sam put his own fork down, chagrined. He’d been wolfing his own dinner down, not noticing his brother’s lack of appetite. It was odd. Mac and cheese had been a staple food item when Sam was growing up, along with canned spaghetti and Hamburger Helper. Sam couldn’t imagine Dean not eating it, Dean’d fixed it for Sam once he was old enough for John to leave them on their own for several days.

“Let me try something,” Sam asked. He reached for Dean’s bowl, but while the boy looked at him suspiciously, he didn’t stop Sam either. “Missouri, do you have any hot sauce?”

“Hot sauce?” Missouri questioned, but even as she did, her face was alight with hope. “It’s in the refrigerator.”

Sam easily found it and returned to the table. Looking Dean in the eye, he dribbled a few drops into the macaroni and cheese. “This is the way my brother always fixed it for me. He said that was the way our mom did it.” He stirred the hot sauce in and handed the bowl back to Dean.

Dean looked down at his food and back up at Sam. For a minute, Sam was sure the child would balk at trying it, but for the first time during the meal, Dean’s fork did more than poke at the pasta. He speared a piece and put it in his mouth. A sudden, joyful grin broke out over Dean’s face and he began eating enthusiastically. Sam watched with deep pleasure until a hand on his arm broke him out of his reverie.

“Thank you,” Missouri’s eyes were full of tears. “Are there any other tricks that your brother taught you?”

Finicky eating was not tolerated in the Winchester family. At least, it hadn’t been when Sam was growing up. Money was too tight for that. As he cast his mind back, though, Sam could remember some other things Dean had done to ease the way for him.

“Sandwiches should be cut on the diagonal, not straight across,” Sam told Missouri. He could see her mentally taking notes. “Never use chunky peanut butter, Dean always said it looks like puke. Cereal should have as much sugar in it as allowed by the FDA, hotdogs should always be boiled and not done in the microwave, and his favorite soup is Chicken and Stars.”

Missouri nodded and, seeing Dean was still involved in eating his dinner, she commented, “Your dad is a good father, but he doesn’t know all the little tricks that your mother did.”

Sam nodded, although he wasn’t entirely convinced. If John Winchester was such a great father, why wasn’t he here with his kids?

After dinner, Sam helped Missouri clean up. To his surprise, Dean assisted too. Baby Sam was still in the highchair, so while adult Sam washed and Missouri dried, Dean put away the non-breakable dishes in the cupboards that he could reach. 

The doorbell rang, startling them all. Missouri made a soft sound of annoyance and looked out the window. “Darn that woman, I told her I wouldn’t be available today.” The doorbell rang again and Missouri looked torn. 

“What’s the matter?” Sam asked.

“I earn my living by doing readings for folks,” Missouri explained. “But on the days I baby-sit for John, I don’t take my regular clients.” The doorbell rang a third time and Missouri gave Sam a calculated look. “Loretta is one of my better clients and you’re here to watch the baby. . . .”

Sam could see where the conversation was going and didn’t like it a bit. “Wait a minute, I don’t know anything about babies.”

“You don’t have to,” Missouri assured him. “Dean knows how to take care of his brother. You just have to supervise.”

Despite his protests, Sam found himself back in the living room, alone with his baby self and his four year-old brother. Dean was slightly more relaxed than he had been before dinner. Apparently, once Sam had been proven not to be cannibal, he could be trusted a little more.

Baby Sam was back on the quilt, but less content with the rolling game. A new game was begun, one that involved the infant throwing his toys and squealing as he watched Dean hurry to retrieve them. After one toy had been thrown a particularly long way, baby Sam waited until Dean was as far away as possible and then he began to roll. The adult Sam didn’t realize the infant’s plan until the baby had rolled off the quilt and onto the carpet. The happy chortle was a clear indication that the timing was no coincidence.

“You little sneak,” Sam commented as he started to get up to grab his baby self. He was appalled at his infant self’s behavior.

Dean beat the adult Sam to baby’s side. At Dean’s glare, Sam settled back on the couch and watched while Dean wrapped his arms around the baby’s stomach. “No, Sammy.” For his part, baby Sam didn’t seem to mind being hauled around like a sack of potatoes. He let his brother settle him to the middle of the quilt again and, seemingly tired, was content to chew on one of his toys instead of throwing it.

Sighing, Dean sat down with a thump and rested his back against the couch. The adult Sam wasn’t sure if he should ignore the fact that the little boy had spoken or encourage him to speak again. After a few moments of internal debate, he decided not to address it directly.

“You know, you’re an awesome big brother,” Sam stated awkwardly. “I have one of those too. A big brother, I mean.” Seeing that he had the boy’s attention, Sam continued. “When I was your Sammy’s age, something bad happened to my mom and my brother and my dad were very sad.”

Dean’s green eyes got very wide and his eyes darted to the infant Sam.

“I was too little to be sad,” Sam answered the unasked question. “I was later, when I was old enough to understand, but not when I was a baby.” Sam took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s okay to be sad, Dean, but I promise you it’ll get better. You just have to hang in there.”

Sam wasn’t so sure that he was telling the little boy the truth. Dean had always been touchy about the subject of their mother. He never spoke of her willingly and usually only in the most clipped of tones, Even when both brothers were adults, Mary Winchester was a dangerous subject to broach. 

“That’s why I take care of Sammy,” Dean’s voice was a hoarse whisper. Sam wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t spoken much and his voice had gotten rusty or if it had something to do with the tears shining in Dean’s eyes. “So he won’t be sad. Mommy said I was the big brother and had to look out for him. It’s my job.”

The four year-old’s words were a punch in the gut. Sam knew that their father had put a lot of responsibility on Dean’s shoulders, but he hadn’t realized that Mary had as well. She probably hadn’t even meant to and was just trying to help Dean to adjust to having a sibling. That she’d died gave her words more weight than she must have intended. 

For his part, Dean didn’t seem to mind. He never had and as far as Sam could tell, didn’t even at the tender age of four. Baby Sam giggled again and Dean’s attention was pulled away from their conversation. The infant had tossed his toy again and Dean patiently trotted across the room to get it. As he handed it back, baby Sam reached for his brother. Dean leaned down and the baby planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. For the first time since he’d entered Missouri’s house, Sam saw Dean smile and the palatable air of grief that seemed to hover over him lifted, if even for a moment.

It clicked. His baby brother wasn’t just Dean’s job; he was his joy. It occurred to Sam that, like Dean’s protective nature, maybe that was something that hadn’t changed either.

It was a profound revelation, but Sam wasn’t given the time to savor it. The familiar purr of an engine intruded on his thoughts. Dean heard it too, because his little head snapped up. Sam swiveled on the couch and pulled the draperies aside. Sure enough, the Impala had pulled up onto the driveway.

Sam was paralyzed. Just as he’d never thought to encounter a child Dean, it never occurred to him that he might come face to face with a younger version of his father. The possibilities swirled in Sam’s head. It’d been months since Dean had come to Stanford to get Sam’s help in finding their father; for all Sam knew, John Winchester was still trying to discover what had killed their mom. Even so, Sam could warn him of other things. Maybe their childhood wouldn’t have to be so bleak after all, if their dad could be cautioned against being so single-minded about hunting. Sam winced even as the thought occurred to him. Missouri could be right. If Sam warned his father about what was to come, John Winchester might end up dead instead of a better father.

Dean had hurried to the door as soon as he’d heard the car, but he didn’t go outside. Sam could see the desire to run to his father in every fiber of his brother’s being, but Dean didn’t. Instead, Dean looked back at the adult Sam and then the baby. Clearly, even if the adult Sam was more trusted than he’d been when he arrived, he was not trusted enough to be alone with Dean’s little brother.

As Sam watched, John Winchester got out of the car. He moved slowly, like an old man. Missouri had earlier turned the outside lights on, so as John moved closer to the house, Sam could get a good look at him. John couldn’t have been much older than Dean was in Sam’s proper time, but the lines of grief and exhaustion were deep in his face. From the way his father kept giving nervous glances at the house, John was obviously expecting to be greeted by his little boy. When it didn’t happen, his steps quickened.

“Go ahead, baby,” Missouri’s voice came from behind Sam. “I’m here.”

It was all the reassurance Dean needed. He opened the front door and was out like a shot. Wordlessly, he ran to his father and jumped into his arms. Sam was watching their dad’s face and saw the man’s expression lighten. John lifted Dean up easily and settled him on his hip. He kissed his son on the top of his head and, as he got closer, Sam could see his dad’s lips moving as he spoke to the child.

“Missouri, is everything all right?” John Winchester asked as soon as he stepped inside.

“Everything’s fine, John,” Missouri had picked up baby Sam while John made the last few steps to get into the house. 

Baby Sam squealed with delight as he caught sight of his dad. His chubby arms came out and he leaned so far out of Missouri’s embrace that the adult Sam was afraid for a moment that the baby would fall. Missouri expertly adjusted her grip, however, and readily handed the infant off to John, once John had let Dean slide to the floor. Sam was amazed to see his dad tickle his baby self under the chin until the baby shrieked with laughter.

“I saved a plate back for you,” Missouri offered.

“Thanks, but I already ate,” John replied. From the look on her face, Missouri didn’t believe John any more than Sam did, but she didn’t question him. “How did my boys do today?”

“Sam was angel, as always,” Missouri assured him. “And Dean was the perfect helper.”

“Did he say anything?” John asked, almost desperately. “How was his appetite?”

Missouri shook her head. “Not a word,” she told the anxious father, not aware of the short conversation between the boy and the adult Sam. “And only a bite of his sandwich at lunch.” John’s face fell and she hastened to continue. “But I’m happy to tell you that he ate a whole bowl of macaroni and cheese at supper.”

John’s face lit up with a relieved grin. “A whole bowl? That’s great!” Dean was pressed against his side and John dropped one hand to cup the back of the child’s head. “That’s a good job, buddy. Missouri, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Oh, I don’t get the credit,” Missouri shook her head. “It was Sam that did it.”

The adult Sam had been hanging back in the shadows during the mini family reunion. John Winchester hadn’t noticed him. That told Sam just how far his father was from the hardened hunter that he knew. The John Winchester that had raised him would have been aware of Sam’s presence before he’d fully stepped into the house. This John Winchester, however, wasn’t nearly that hardened. He was hardened enough, though, to tense at the realization that a stranger was in the house where his children had been all day.

“Sam?” John had pulled himself to his full height and his hand had gone from cupping Dean’s head to subtly pulling the child behind him. “I don’t think I know you.”

“Stop that,” Missouri snapped, almost in the tone Sam remembered from her more mature version. “Like I told Dean earlier, Sam is my friend, just like you are and he has every right to be in my home, just like you.”

John’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Missouri. It’s just, after Mary, everything seems like a threat.”

“That’s all right, I understand,” Sam stepped forward and held out a hand. “My name is Sam. . . Sam Moore.” He’d had a moment to think and using Jessica’s last name just seemed natural. “Missouri told me what happened to your wife; I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Letting go of Dean, John shook Sam’s hand. Sam wasn’t surprised to find that his father had a very firm grip. “John Winchester.”

“Like the gun?” Sam couldn’t help but asking. He got a brief grin out of his father in response.

“Yeah, like the gun.” When he was finished with the handshake, John’s hand went back to Dean, this time resting on the top of the child’s head. “Thanks for helping my boy.”

Sam shrugged. “All I did was put a little hot sauce on his macaroni. That’s the way I had it growing up.”

“Well, thanks,” John seemed grateful, but embarrassed. “Dean, well, he misses his mom a lot.”

It was the perfect opening to tell John Winchester just how much he understood and to warn him about how hunting would take over their lives. Looking into his father’s tired expression, however, and seeing how much a simple thing like convincing Dean to eat meant to him, Sam couldn’t do it. Some things, John Winchester would have to learn on his own, because the learning itself might be what kept him alive. Besides, changing their childhood might make Sam’s life easier and Dean’s too, but Sam was selfish enough to want Dean just the way he was. Who knew what changing their past would do to his Dean? What would it do to their relationship?

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Missouri asked.

“No, thanks, it’s getting dark and I need to get these two back to the motel,” John put her off.

Missouri sighed. “I do wish you’d take me up on the offer to stay here. I have the room.”

Sam could have told her it was a lost cause; John Winchester didn’t take hand-outs. Stealing through credit card fraud was okay, or would be eventually, but charity was morally wrong in John Winchester’s book. Sam snorted at the irony.

She got the boys’ outerwear out of the closet and, while she and John wrestled the baby into his snowsuit, Dean ran back to the kitchen. He came back with the picture he’d colored earlier and Sam expected the boy to give it to his father. Instead, Dean came up to Sam and solemnly offered it to him. The drawing wasn’t very good; Dean was too young to have refined motor skills. Really, all that was on the paper were four colored globs, sized large to small. Sam didn’t have to ask to know what the picture was of; Dean had drawn his family.

Sam swallowed hard, more touched than he would have believed. “Thanks, Dean, and remember what I said.”

The little boy nodded and, a few moments later, walked out of the house clutching tightly onto his father’s hand. Sam watched the trio go and then moved to the window. From there, he observed as John bundled the boys into the car and drove off. As the Impala’s tail lights faded into the distance, Sam felt horribly alone. He folded the picture Dean gave him carefully and stuck it in his back pocket. Keeping it close helped a little.

“You didn’t tell your father who you were,” Missouri had walked up next to him while Sam was distracted.

Sam shook his head. “He didn’t need to know. You were right; we can’t change the past.”

“Baby, did it occur to you that maybe that changing things wasn’t what you were sent here for?” Missouri asked him gently.

Sam considered. Sophia Laster had said she’d given Sam a gift. Seeing his brother as a child had opened Sam’s eyes regarding Dean’s attitude about protecting him. Sam probably would never agree with it, but at least now he could understand where it came from.

“Yeah, maybe.” Sam admitted. “Look, Missouri, I know it’s early, but do you have a bed I could crash in? It’s been a hell of a day.”

“Watch your language,” Missouri chided him, but then she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “And, yes, of course you can stay here. I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

She didn’t press him anymore and Sam was grateful. He followed her upstairs and watched with dull eyes as she readied the guest room. Sam didn’t ask her why she had a man’s set of extra large sweats on hand; he was too much of a gentleman and avoided the subject when her skin darkened with an embarrassed flush. He hadn’t needed to vocalize the question; with her abilities, she’d heard him anyway.

In short order, Sam was tucked into bed. It was warm and soft, unlike the park bench he’d awakened on. It had been a day of unexpected experiences and revelations, even for someone like Sam who’d been raised on strange occurrences. Exhausted, Sam quickly drifted off into sleep.

*  
*  
*

Sam had fallen asleep in a bed and, unlike before, awoke in one. This time, however, he knew without even open his eyes that he wasn’t in Lawrence anymore. Not only was he not alone, but he could tell from the scent that the person who shared the bed with him was Dean.

Deeply content, Sam opened his eyes. Dean was sleeping on his back and had his face turned towards Sam. Now that he knew what he was looking for, Sam could see the traces of the child he’d been in Dean’s face. Even as Sam’s heart ached for the little boy he’d met, Sam couldn’t help but be happy that he was with his Dean again. Dean had grieved deeply as a child; probably still grieved, but he’d survived it to become the man who was Sam’s partner in all ways. 

Sam propped himself up on one elbow so that he could better observe his brother. He worried for a moment that his trip back in time had changed things, but could see from the way the covers had slid down and Dean’s t-shirt had hitched up that the bandage he’d put on his brother was still there. Sam frowned; how screwed was he that it was a relief to see that his brother was still wounded?

“Wha’s the matter?” Dean asked, not bothering to open his eyes. “Am I droolin’ or something?”

He should have realized that Dean would, even asleep, know that he was being observed. Sam smiled ruefully. “No. I just like looking at you.”

That comment got Dean to open one eye warily. “Good morning?”

The way he made it a question reminded Sam of how angry he’d been the night before. He’d been a bit of a prick, now that Sam thought of it. No wonder Dean was a little hesitant to trust Sam’s changed mood.

“Good morning,” Sam responded firmly. He leaned forward to press a kiss against Dean’s mouth. As he did, he used the tip of his tongue to trace ever so lightly against his brother’s lips.

Sam leaned back, watching smugly as Dean licked his lips. 

“Not that I’m complaining, Sammy,” Dean stated, still cautious. “But for a guy who was pissy as hell last night, you’re awfully sunshine and roses this morning.”

“Yeah, about that,” Sam had never been good at apologies, for all that Dean teased him about being too chick-like for his own good. “I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

Dean blinked and gave Sam an odd look. After pursing his lips, he reached out and felt Sam’s forehead. “Nope. You don’t have a fever.”

“I’m not sick, Dean,” Sam assured him. “I just realized I was being a jerk about you saving my life, that’s all.”

“Really.” Dean gave him one last suspicious glance and then seemed to finally believe him. He stretched and then winced, giving Sam the big eyes. “I was shot, you know.”

Sam grinned at his brother’s shameless posturing. “I know.”

Dean settled back into the covers and Sam curled up next to him, absently petting Dean’s chest. The more time he spent in his brother’s presence, the more the previous day’s experience felt like a dream. Compared to Dean’s warmth, Sam’s time in the 80s became less real by the moment.

“Sam, you okay?” Dean asked him after a couple of minutes of content silence. “You’re a little weird this morning.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, I just had a really odd dream last night.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted. “A nightmare? Those usually wake me up.”

Even if his time in Lawrence had been a dream, there was no way that Sam would call it a nightmare. Besides, the things he learned about his brother couldn’t be discounted, real or not. His subconscious had obviously known Sam was being a jerk and had constructed a dream to teach him a lesson. Sam was no dummy; the message had been received loud and clear.

“Not a nightmare,” Sam assured him. “Just a strange dream.”

“Strange as in purple elephants chasing you?” Dean pressed. He never did like not knowing something about Sam. “Or strange as in the Cowboy Cheerleaders capturing you for their man slave?”

Sam grinned. “None of the above.” Knowing his brother’s insatiable curiosity about all things pertaining to his younger brother, Sam decided on a small lie. “It’s already fading.”

“Huh.” Dean nuzzled into Sam’s hair. “Well, lucky me, if it improved your mood.”

“No,” Sam corrected him. “Lucky me. You saved me life. Again.”

Dean shrugged, as if taking a bullet for his brother had been a little thing. “It’s my job.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied quietly. “I know.”

And he did know what his brother meant, maybe for the first time in his Sam’s life.

There was silence for a few minutes, but it was broken by the loud rumbling of Dean’s stomach. Sam laughed quietly and patted his brother on the belly. “Well, if your job is to take care of me, then the least I can do is to patch you up afterwards.”

Dean did his best to look pathetic. “And feed me?”

“Yes, and feed you,” Sam assured him. “We can even go to that restaurant you saw, the chain one.”

“I can tell them that I love eggs?” Dean asked. When Sam nodded, Dean let out a small whoop. “Hot damn.”

Normally, the brothers avoided chain restaurants, preferring small diners and neighborhood eating establishments. Not only did they tend to have less stringent credit card systems, but they were more likely to have local clientele, ones that the Winchesters could use to gather information on whatever case they happened to be working. The particular restaurant that Dean had spied was a chain type and , if you told them you loved eggs, they’d add an extra egg to your breakfast for free. The combination of free food and extra cholesterol was too much for Dean to pass by.

Dean rolled out of bed, not acting nearly so wounded now that breakfast was in the near future. “Haul ass, Sammy.”

Sam helped Dean get dressed, more for his own sake than any need of Dean’s. A couple of chaste kisses were exchanged, but Dean must have really been hungry, because he stayed focused on getting ready. Sam finally turned him loose so that he could get his own clothes on.

“I’m gonna hit the head,” Dean told him. “You better be ready when I come out or I’m leaving without you.”

Sam knew it for an empty threat. Besides, he still had the keys to the Impala. At least, he should still have them. Sam finished pulling on his jeans and started patting his pockets. Sure enough, the car keys were right where he left them, in his left front pocket. As he moved, though, Sam heard a rustling from his back pocket. He stilled as he remembered that had been where he’d stashed the drawing that the four year-old Dean had given him in his dream.

Swallowing hard, Sam reached around with shaking fingers and took the paper out of his pocket. He’d known what it was from the moment he’d detected it there, but even so, he smiled in wonder as he unfolded the sheet and saw his brother’s childish drawing on it.

It had been no dream, after all.

“Yo, Sam, you ready to go?” Dean asked as he left the bathroom.

“Just about.” As nonchalant as he could, Sam tucked the drawing back into his pocket. Luckily for him, Dean hadn’t noticed it, being too intent on hustling Sam out of the motel for breakfast. If he had, there would have been no way for Sam to keep his secret – and he did want to keep it.

They were partners in every way, but Sophia Laster’s gift felt too intensely private to share with anyone, even Dean. Silently, Sam thanked the spirit, wherever she’d happened to move on to. She’d sent Sam to exactly the right time and place to discover why it was so important to Dean to take care of Sam and, indirectly, revealed what Sam Winchester’s job was. 

Namely, to give Dean a focus for that big heart of his and, more importantly, to make sure that his brother never felt alone.

“Dude,” Dean interrupted Sam’s reverie. He was at the door, impatiently looking back at his younger brother. “Some time today?”

Sam grinned, happier than he’d been in what felt like forever. He strode towards his brother. “I’m with you.”

With Dean, where Sam belonged and where he would always be.

~the end~


End file.
